


A female for Bertie

by Ponddipper



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst, Devotion, Emotional Hurt, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Minor Violence, Multi, Unrequited Love, trying to make amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponddipper/pseuds/Ponddipper
Summary: I drew breath to explain myself further, but found I was unable to do so when Mr Wooster’s fist connected sharply with my eye.





	A female for Bertie

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. I hope you like it. Do please leave me a comment, as I am still new to this, especially this fandom, so I am always looking for help to improve.  
> It is un-beta'd so let me know if I have made any errors and I will try to correct them.  
> I have another story waiting in the wings and hope to post it soon.  
> Enjoy!  
> P.S If anyone wants to write this from Bertie's P.O.V, feel free. Just tag me in somewhere? Thanks.

          **A Female for Bertie**

_Jeeves P.O.V_

 

            ‘I’m not hungry.’

            ‘But, Sir!’ I implored towards the mass huddled beneath the bedclothes.

            ‘I _said_ I’m not hungry.  Take. It.  Away.’

            ‘Very good, Sir.’

Defeated I withdrew from Mr Wooster’s bedroom, still bearing the untouched tray, glad that Monsieur Anatole had left the building and was unable to watch as his latest culinary creation slid wetly into the kitchen bin.  With a heavy sigh I stacked the now empty dishes by the sink and took to staring out of the window at the brick wall opposite.  My stomach growled, the sound echoing around the room.  Although I could have taken the repast I had just discarded, it not uncommon for those in service to consume that which has been returned uneaten by their employers, the food would have been as ashes in my mouth.  I could not even bring myself to lick clean my finger where a spot of sauce had splashed upon it.

            I desperately tried to think of a solution to the current situation that pervaded Mr Wooster’s household and specifically the melancholy of the man himself.  It had been five days since he had eaten anything, surviving purely on alcoholic beverages which he demanded almost hourly, day and night.  He had thinned visibly in the past days and seemed determined to drink and starve himself out of existence.  Yesterday, in sheer desperation, I prepared a liquid concoction of fruits, yogurt and a generous splash of rum in an attempt to ensure some form of nutrition found its way into his system.  Alas, he drank only a little, washed it down with three brandy and sodas then proceeded to retreat back under the bedclothes, curled into a ball.   My heart aches to see him suffer so, my stomach burning with guilt and shame to know the part I have unwittingly played in causing him such distress.

            You will begin to understand the severity of the situation when I state that for five days Mr Wooster has refused all food, all visitors and has only left his bed in order to crawl to the bathroom and expel his stomach when the load of fermented grain in his bloodstream has proven too much.  Then the cycle begins again.  You may ask yourself what combination of circumstance could cause such a dramatic change in one so full of joy and life as Mr Wooster and I can sum it up in one word: **Love**.  Or, more specifically, _heartbreak_.

            Five days ago Mr Wooster severed his engagement to Miss Penelope Buckhurst-Wells, when he found the young lady and I in the kitchen of the London flat, locked in an embrace.

Let me explain…

Mr Wooster met Miss Buckhurst-Wells about two months ago, at a party given by the publishers of his memoirs.  Admittedly to publish memoirs before the age of thirty is unusual, but Mr Wooster has led a full life  so far in his few years and many of the scrapes he has encountered are, upon reflection of time and distance, most humorous.  Of course he writes under a pseudonym and has changed the names of those involved (my own included) to save any ensuing embarrassment or repercussions for all parties.   For the sake of clarity and maintaining this anonymity I have continued to use those names here.

            I am told by observers who were at the party (I am acquainted with several of the serving staff who were present) that Mr Wooster and Miss Buckhurst-Wells hit it off immediately and scarcely took notice of any other all evening.  I recall upon his return to the flat that Mr Wooster’s manner was markedly different and I could tell at once he was in love.  No other female has ever induced such serenity in him, such a calm contentment and peace of spirit as I saw that evening.  It was as a dagger to my soul to see it, but I could not begrudge him his happiness in favour of my own.  As Shakespeare wrote, “ _tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”_ The fact of the matter is I love my master with all my heart, but long ago accepted that my feelings would remain unrequited, for Mr Wooster is not like me.

            Within a week Mr Wooster had proposed to Miss Buckhurst-Wells and she had accepted him.  I was the first to hear their announcement and gave my congratulations as a good servant should, opening the requested champagne and pouring the glasses.  The following day I gave my notice.

            ‘But, Jeeves!’ Mr Wooster had almost cried.  ‘Please! Stay.  Nothing will change.  I’ll still need help getting into the soup and fish and the household has never run better than under your hand.’

            ‘No, Sir.  That will be the role of your wife.’  I managed not to spit the last word out.

            ‘But Penny won’t have time for all that.  She’s a writer too Jeeves and will be working on her stories.  Please stay Jeeves.  If not as my valet as our butler?  Please?!’

I have never told another soul, but Mr Wooster has a particular pleading expression, like that of a scolded puppy looking admonished upon its master, begging forgiveness for its error.  I have never been able to refuse this look and it was just this expression that met me now.  His eyes wide and watery, his bottom lip protruding and trembling, his ears taking on a tinge of pink at the tips.  Despite my personal rule _never_ to work for a married gentleman, I found myself agreeing to stay on.  For a trial period.  Mr Wooster looked relieved.

            I should have foreseen trouble when he added,

            ‘Penny will be _so_ pleased.  She thinks ever so much of you.’

 

It seemed Miss Buckhurst-Wells did indeed think a lot of me.  Just two weeks after their engagement notice appeared in the Times she began to watch me.  Not in any negative manner you understand, merely observing my actions as I carried out my duties.  If I caught her staring she would smile fondly and resume reading, or whatever business she was about.  I became more and more aware of her wide doe-like chestnut brown eyes following me around the room as I bent to dust a shelf, or straighten some papers.  It was a peculiar sensation but I brushed the concern away as unimportant, her interest mere fascination, and focussed deeper on my tasks.

Then came the slight touches; her hand laid upon my arm during conversation, a brush of the fingers as she handed me her empty glass, the way she cupped my cheek as she said goodbye one evening.  In themselves they were harmless but together they combined to make me ever more uncomfortable around her.  I have never desired the intimate company of a woman and her affectionate attentions unnerved me.  The worst incident came about six weeks into the engagement when, one evening as I was mixing drinks for Mr Wooster and his guests, Miss Buckhurst-Wells approached me from behind and proceeded to grab at my fundament quite hard, causing me to almost drop the crystal decanter I held.  Thankfully Mr Wooster and his guests were too occupied with his piano playing to notice my slip but the young lady turned to face me and gave a most salacious wink.  After that I tried to avoid her whenever possible.

            This became more difficult as the days passed and Miss Buckhurst-Wells began to drop round to the flat quite often, whether Mr Wooster was at home or not.  Her argument was that once she became Mrs Wooster she would be living there anyway so we might as well begin to get used to the idea.  Her logic was faultless and I could not find any reasonable excuse to deny her, despite how uncomfortable I felt.  It was here I made my second error.  I believed my unease in the presence of the young lady stemmed from my jealousy of her hold on Mr Wooster’s heart and not my innate intuition picking up on something in her manner.  Had I done what I usually did at such times and looked deeper into her background, I may have been able to spare Mr Wooster some of his anguish.  Or perhaps not.  When one is so enchanted by another, an entire legion of naysayers cannot change ones opinion.  It is only upon seeing a person’s true colours at first hand can the spell be broken.

            And broken it was, the evening Mr Wooster returned from his tailors to find Miss Buckhurst-Wells draped all over me like an ill-fitting garment and our lips locked together in embrace…

I realise at this juncture that I have been remiss in not describing to you the appearance of the young lady who was set to become my employer’s wife.  Similar in stature to Mr Wooster, she was lean and tall, possessed of a classical feminine profile, with blond wavy hair cut in the modern style.  To most men she would be considered beautiful, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder and my own tastes run to a more masculine line.  However Mr Wooster was smitten with her. 

On the evening in question I had been occupying myself in the kitchen, polishing the silver.  Miss Buckhurst-Wells was in the sitting room drinking tea whilst waiting for Mr Wooster to return from his tailors.  He was being measured for his morning suit and, whereas I would previously have accompanied him to ensure his sartorial choice was appropriate for a gentleman of his standing, I could not bring myself to watch as he made preparations for his upcoming wedding, so I remained at home and tended to the more menial tasks in the hope I could drive myself to distraction.

The betrothed couple were due to attend the theatre that evening and I had planned to escape to the Junior Ganymede for a few hours relaxation away from leering women and talk of matrimony.  Lost in anticipatory thoughts of my evening off I was suddenly aware of the kitchen door swinging open and I jumped to my feet in preparation to attend to whatever was required of me, knocking the chair over in my haste.

            ‘There you are, Jeeves!’  Miss Buckhurst-Wells said stalking into the room like an oversized cat.  ‘Are you avoiding me?’  

            ‘No Madam, I was merely cleaning the silver.  It looked a little tarnished.’  I kept my wary eyes on her as I righted the chair to its proper standing.

            ‘But I saw you polish it yesterday.  Surely it can’t be _that_ dirty.’

            ‘Mr Wooster likes to keep things looking their best, Miss.’

This seemed to amuse her as she smiled at me with a glint in her eye, before stalking her way around the kitchen table, reminding me of a tigress in pursuit of her prey.  Her eyes were narrowed and dark as she licked her lips and traced a finger along the edge of the table top.

 I stood at attention, my senses heightened with her presence.  As I have mentioned before, the woman puts me on edge

            ‘You seem a touch _uncomfortable_ around me, Jeeves.’ She said as she approached, backing me into the corner furthest from the door. 

            ‘No, Miss.  I am just going about my duties as normal when Mr Wooster has guests.’  I could only breathe in short gasps as she stopped mere inches away.  I could feel the puff of her breath against my skin as she spoke and her words made me feel quite queasy.

            ‘But I am no mere _guest_ Jeeves.  Very soon I will be your mistress.  And I think you should learn to feel more at ease around me.’

My heart began to pound as she gently cupped my cheek, rubbing her thumb along my lower lip and pressed her body against me.  For one of the few times in my life I was stymied.  I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted to push her away, to run to the sanctuary of my room until Mr Wooster returned, but she was his guest and it was my duty to receive her if Mr Wooster was absent.  If I pushed her away would she tell Mr Wooster I had been rude to her, or lacking in my duties? 

But if I were to give in to the demands of this woman I would be betraying myself and the man I loved more than life itself.  What would stop her from telling Mr Wooster untruths that would see my reputation ruined anyway? 

There was something about her that made me believe she would do this and worse if I did not handle this situation delicately.  I had been in Mr Wooster’s employ for a number of years and it would be hard for me to find another position without his reference.  All those who knew of my abilities and might employ me without a reference were known to Mr Wooster also and he would, if asked, certainly advise them of the reason for my leaving him.

            ‘What’s wrong Reggie?’  She purred.  ‘Don’t you _like_ me?’  Her lips formed into a pout as she pressed even closer into my body. 

The use of my given name sent a jolt right through me and I leant backwards, unable to retreat any further as I was trapped between the kitchen unit and the young lady.  A few days ago I had caught her in my room, looking at the photographs I keep on the dresser.  She said she had gotten lost whilst looking for the bathroom, and I had no evidence to prove otherwise, but from then on I kept my door locked at all times. 

            ‘I think _you_ are quite a handsome fellow.’  She said as she ran her hand up the back of my head.  ‘And I’ve seen the way you look at me.’

Her words made my skin crawl.  _I believe you are overdue a visit to the purveyor of low cost eyeglasses, Miss,_ I thought as she began to loosen my tie.  I tried to escape her touch but I was impeded by the wall cabinet upon which I struck my head.

‘I know your little secret, Reggie.’ She whispered as she closed the gap between our faces.  ‘You’re just too shy to tell me, aren’t you?’  And then she kissed me.

I could scarcely breathe and I felt faint and dizzy.  If Mr Wooster should return at this moment what would he think?  I pulled my hands up to grip her shoulders, in an effort to push her away as she assaulted my mouth, when there was a startled cry in the distance and my insides dropped away to my feet.

            ‘What the hell!’

            ‘Bertie!  DARLING.  You’re back.’  Miss Buckhurst-Wells sprang away from me like a scalded cat and rushed to Mr Wooster’s side but he neatly sidestepped her embrace.        

I can imagine that as Mr Wooster saw it, I appeared to have been kissing his fiancéee but I was not.  My appearance must have been a sight, my tie undone and hanging loose, my shirt creased from the young lady’s explorations.  My face burned with shame at being so unkempt in front of my master and I could not bring my gaze any higher than the floor.

            ‘Yes.  I am. And not a moment too soon it seems.’  He replied.

I have, in the past, led others to believe that Mr Wooster is mentally negligible.  This is untrue, a ruse on my part to disentangle him from a predicament he found himself in, a way to secure my own position in his life as one who could be relied upon to sort out the messes he often fell into.  In fact, Mr Wooster has a great intellect usually coupled with a warm and generous spirit, though such was not in evidence just now.  He quickly interpreted what he had seen occurring between his fiancée and his valet. 

            ‘Penny?  What is going on?’  There was an unaccustomed edge to his voice that gave me pause, a challenge in his tone, daring either one of us to contradict what he had seen.

            ‘Nothing, Bertie Darling!  Nothing.’

            ‘ _Nothing_?  Jeeves?’  He raised an eyebrow toward me.  ‘Am I going blind or were you kissing Miss Buckhurst-Wells?’  His eyes were hard and dark, boring into me.  At that moment I could see how he was related to Mrs Gregson by blood.

            I knew I could not lie to him, but to tell him the truth wold be to break his heart.

            ‘Yes.  And no, sir.’  I admitted, my mind racing to find an explanation that would not add further to his distress. 

Drawing breath to elaborate further, I found myself unable to do so when Mr Wooster’s fist met my eye so hard the wind was knocked out of me and I stumbled backwards, hitting myself against the units again.

            ‘Bertie!  What are you doing?’ shrieked Miss Buckhurst-Wells, trying to grab at his arm, but he shrugged her off.

            ‘Get out.’  His voice was low and menacing as he turned to the woman in front of him.

            ‘Bertie, please!  Let me explain.’  It was clear she was near to tears, her tone pleading for his mercy.

            ‘I said get out.  I never want to see you again.  The wedding is off.’

With my good eye I could see his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides and I was actually a little afraid of what he might do next.  His behaviour in the past few minutes had been unpredictable.  Would he actually use physical force on the woman?  I am ashamed to admit I was not certain.  I opened my mouth to speak but was silenced by his glare.  I have never seen such anger and hurt in him and my own heart was crushed to dust as he directed it upon me.

            ‘I do not want to hear any excuses.  You are dismissed.’

            To cut a long story to its shorter counterpart, Mr Wooster revealed that he had suspected for several days that something was going on between his fiancée and myself but he thought it impossible, because he had trusted me to act in a proper and gentlemanly fashion with the young lady.  Seeing our ‘kiss’ however had confirmed his suspicions and he ended their engagement before escorting the woman to the door.  I will not repeat what Mr Wooster called me on his return for, as he put it ‘Jumping on the poor woman’, before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. 

As soon as I heard the front door slam, my tears began to fall and I hastened to my room to pack.  I own but a little and it took me no time to pack my few possessions in my valise.  I debated fiercely whether to include the annotated copy of Spinoza which Mr Wooster had so generously purchased for my birthday some years ago.  It was a treasured gift, bookmarked with a photograph of us both, from a day trip to Coney Island we had taken while we were in New York.  It had been a day filled with happy memories which I treasured close to my heart and in the end I decided that to leave the book behind would be to show ingratitude to the man I have admired and cared too much for, for so long.

            I considered whether it would best to leave before Mr Wooster returned but a deep seated part of me was concerned about him.  His actions were so out of character as to cause me great apprehension and I needed to be sure he was safe and well.  He had been so angry, so full of rage and anguish I did not care if he called me every curse and offensive title under the sun, as long as I knew he was unharmed.  So I waited.

            When the hall clock struck three the following morning and Mr Wooster still had not returned, I snapped.  I knew it might make me look a fool, or even worse, but I had to be sure of where he was.  I snatched up the telephone and dialled.

            ‘Good Morning.  Drones club.  How may I be of assistance?’

            ‘Good Morning Mr McGarry.  This is Mr Jeeves, Valet to Mr Wooster.’  My heart jolted at the realisation that this was no longer an accurate description and I had to swallow several times to dislodge the lump that had lodged in my throat but I continued on. 

            ‘Has…has  Mr Wooster been in this evening?’

            ‘I’m sorry Mr Jeeves, we haven’t seen him for days.  Is anything amiss?’

            ‘No.  Thank you, Mr McGarry.  Good night.’

I hung up, trying to think where else Mr Wooster might go in his current state.  A  hotel perhaps?  He would need somewhere to sleep.  I tried the Savoy, then the Ritz, the Carlton , every hotel and nightclub within a ten mile radius of Berkeley Square but the response was the same every time.  Mr Wooster was not there.  No-one had seen him.  I considered dialling his friends from the Drones club but the hour was late, or perhaps early would describe it better and I felt it an imposition to call these gentlemen out of bed at such an hour, despite the growing dread in my insides. Also it would not do to spread news of the current misfortune like an idle gossip among those who may try to use such information to their own ends.  Surely if one of those close to him had encountered Mr Wooster they would have called for my assistance by now? 

A man in Mr Wooster’s current state is an unpredictable entity and I could not be certain of what he may do next.  This is what frightened me most.

 

*****

Eventually, around 7am, a full 12 hours since Mr Wooster stormed out of the flat, and I was preparing to walk to the police station to report my employer missing, I received a telephone call from a most unexpected source.

            ‘Jeeves?  It is Mrs Travers.  I have Bertie here.’

            ‘Oh thank god!’  My sleepless night and emotional turmoil eradicated my usual reserve and my exclamation carried more emotion than I cared it to.  He was safe and well with the Aunt who had raised him from a boy.  Why had I not thought to try there?

            ‘Jeeves.  He says he found you kissing his fiancée.  Is this true?’

I had had time to think about how to explain the incident in the kitchen and I was more composed than I had been when Mr Wooster walked in yesterday evening. 

‘Not exactly Madam.  The young lady cast her unwelcome affections on me a few moments before Mr Wooster walked in.  I regret I did not have a chance to explain properly before he left again.’

            ‘I _thought_ it made no sense.’ Replied Mrs Travers, sounding oddly relieved, as though she had discovered the key piece to unlock some mystery. 

‘Jeeves.  You are to come to Eton Square straight away.  I want to hear your version of events before we tackle Bertie.’

            ‘Very good Madam.’  The relief I felt was immense.

*****

So I made myself as presentable as I could in clothes I had been wearing for over 24 hours and made my way on foot to Mr Wooster’s Aunts address in London.  I tried to ignore the astonished looks from her staff as they gazed upon my blossoming black eye, a result of Mr Wooster striking me with force last evening.  I was aware that such unusual circumstances as had occurred in recent hours would soon be cause of much speculation in the servants’ halls, both here and at Brinkley Court, but by this point I did not care.  My only desire was to speak to Mr Wooster and explain myself.

            Mrs Travers called for tea to be brought to the library, along with some toast when my empty stomach growled quite obscenely.  She poured us each a cup of Ceylon and asked me to explain what had happened.  Feeling at this point that I had nothing left to lose save for my liberty, and that would be worthless without my ability to provide for myself,  I gave her a full and detailed account of the facts regarding Miss Buckhurst-Wells’ behaviour towards me recently and what had transpired the previous evening.  Mrs Travers is an exceptionally observant woman and I saw the dawning realisation on her face as she patiently listened to my explanation.

            ‘Jeeves?’  She said, her voice grave and serious.  ‘Are you _in love_ with my nephew?’

She had always been quite blunt with her observations.  My eyes burned with tears of shame and fear as I nodded in reply.  I could not look at her. I did not wish to see the disgust I knew I should on her face.  I was ruined, my only option now to run, before the police were called and I was sent to prison for my un-natural ways.  I could flee to France, I had some monies put aside, but what would I do once these ran out?  And what of Mr Wooster?  Would he fall prey to the matrimonial attentions of some unsuitable woman and be forever unhappy?  I began to form a plan of escape, when, to my surprise, I felt Mrs Travers reach out and take my hand.  At that point I did look up at her, and all I could find was sympathy in her eyes.

            ‘Please believe me, madam.  I could never hurt him.’  I felt my tears threatening to fall.

            ‘I know, Jeeves.’  She said, patting my knee. ‘I know.’

*****

I stood at the foot of the bed where Mr Wooster lay, still in his grey flannel trousers, shirt and waistcoat.  It spoke of my distress that I did not consider the creases that would inevitably have formed. He was curled into a protective ball like a small child, occasionally sniffling but he did not speak.

            ‘Well?’  Said Mrs Travers to her nephew, in a stern tone.

The young man sighed and rolled onto his back.  I nearly gasped as I took in his tear stained face, his swollen and red rimmed eyes refusing to meet mine.

            ‘Is it true Jeeves?  Did Miss Wells ‘throw’ herself at you as my Aunt suggests?’ 

His voice was rough, no doubt from crying half the night, but his tone dared me to deny what he thought he had seen.

            ‘I would not perhaps use the word ‘throw’, Sir, but yes, Miss Buckhurst-Wells  did instigate somewhat more intimate relations than can be called proper between the lady of the house and the staff, Sir.’

            ‘But why Jeeves?  Why did you not tell me?’

I paused to choose my words carefully.  I could not reveal the whole truth and yet I knew to lie would be to further the mistrust between us.

            ‘I could not, Sir.  I did not wish to ruin your happiness.’

            ‘Well _that_ plan worked then didn’t it?’  He said sarcastically.

            ‘Bertie!’  Snapped Mrs Travers, and he mumbled an apology.  I did not mind his remarks.  It was only what I deserved for failing him.

            ‘I’m just dashed confused why you decided not to tell me, to keep the woman’s advances a secret.  Did you perhaps _enjoy_ them?’

            ‘No Sir!’  I said without hesitation.  ‘I acted purely out of a desire to preserve your happiness.  I hoped that by ignoring the young lady,’

            ‘Do NOT call that…that _floozy_ a young _lady_ Jeeves.’  He interrupted.

            ‘My apologies, Sir.’  I drew a breath before continuing.  ‘I had hoped that by ignoring the _attentions_ they might desist.  Unfortunately I was wrong.’

            ‘Yes.  You were.’  He sighed again, rubbing a shaky hand over his face.  ‘I still can’t see why, if she preferred a Jeeves over a Wooster, she didn’t just cut ties with me and shackle herself to you instead.’

In the hours before midnight whilst I had awaited his return last night, I had also pondered this question.

            ‘Having had time to consider the psychology of Miss Buckhurst-Wells, Sir, I now believe it was not specifically my person that attracted her so much as my station.’

            ‘What?’  He regarded me as if I had two heads and had started speaking Swahili.

            ‘Quite so Jeeves.’ Interjected Mrs Travers and we both turned to look at her, mouths slightly agape.  ‘I believe the phrase “what’s yours is mine” would cover it.  The woman has a thing for power apparently.  Likes to lord it over the staff and in the basest terms in some cases.  I’m sorry Jeeves.’

I blushed with deep embarrassment at her words but she continued.

            ‘I had Seppings, Angela and Hildebrand do a little digging into ‘Miss’ Buckhurst-Wells’ background.’  She held up her hand as Mr Wooster began to speak.

            ‘Don’t interrupt Bertie.  It was merely a precaution on my part.  I knew nothing of any Buckhurst-Wells’ and it would have been remiss of me, as both your guardian and your Aunt, not to check to make sure this woman was genuine in her affections for you.  Be glad I did not follow my sister’s advice and give you directions towards Gretna Green weeks ago.   I only got their reports back last night so I had not time to speak to you before you arrived.  But it turns out our ‘Miss Buckhurst-Wells’ was not as innocent as she first appeared.’

            I stood agog as Mrs Travers revealed the young woman to which Mr Wooster had been betrothed was actually ten years older than she had claimed, and had been married twice before.  Apparently, both times she was married to gentlemen of substantial means who employed servants.  On both occasions, once wed, she began an affair with _at least_ one male member of the household staff, threatening their positions if they spoke out.  In return for a sizeable settlement, ‘Miss Buckhurst-Wells’ agreed to a quick and quiet divorce, caring not a thing for the good men whose reputations she had sullied in her wake.

            ‘Oh my god.’ Cried Mr Wooster as he collapsed to the bed in tears.

*****

That had been five days ago.  Upon returning to the flat later that morning, Mr Wooster bathed, changed into his pyjamas and retired to bed, then proceeded to stay there. 

Now at my wits end, I called Mrs Travers on the telephone.

            ‘How is he Jeeves?’  She asked.

            ‘Much the same, Madam.  He would not even _look_ at Monsieur Anatole’s offering.’

            ‘Good god!  I will be over directly.’

 

True to her word, within an hour Mrs Travers was seated beside Mr Wooster’s bed, with a cup of tea and a stern expression.  I had been excused, but also instructed by Mrs Travers that the fingerplate and door handle outside my master’s bedroom was covered in smudges and that I should polish it immediately.  Espying the twinkle in the lady’s eye I nodded my acknowledgement and set about my task.  That I could eavesdrop on their conversation was pure coincidence.

            ‘You must eat, Bertie.’

            ‘I’m not hungry.’  He mumbled in reply.

            ‘I don’t care!  That poor man out there is going through agonies because of you and all you can do is mope!’

            ‘Perhaps he should have spoken out beforehand then.’ He sounded sulky and sarcastic.

            ‘Don’t be a fathead, you blot.  Did you ever wonder why I didn’t get Jeeves to dig up information on that woman?’

The term ‘ _that woman_ ’ referred to Miss Buckhurst-Wells as none was permitted to speak her name in Mr Wooster’s presence.

            ‘No.’ 

            ‘I asked him to.’  Replied Mrs Travers. ‘But he refused.  He told me that he saw how happy you were and even if she turned out to be a gold-digging harlot, if she made you happy that was all that mattered.’

From my position outside the room I could not see Mr Wooster but the heavy silence that followed led me to believe he was digesting this comment.  I too had been shocked by my feelings at the time but I stood by them.  Mr Wooster’s happiness was all that mattered to me.

            ‘Now do you see?  Jeeves’ only concern is your welfare and you are being downright cruel to him.  He hasn’t done anything wrong, save trying to protect you from hurt.  He spent hours calling every club and hotel in London the other night when you didn’t come home, because he was worried about you.  Even though he was sure he didn’t have a job or a home anymore, his priority was making sure you were safe and well.  Did you know he was about to go to the police when I called him the next morning?  Would have had them drag the river probably.  The poor man was frantic.  He nearly broke down when I spoke to him.  So stop laying there feeling sorry for yourself and get back out there Bertie!  There are plenty more deserving girls just waiting for a man like you.’

            A cup hit a saucer quite forcefully and I had to jump back quickly to avoid falling through the doorway when Mrs Travers opened the bedroom door.

            ‘Ah Jeeves!  Just the man.  Please run Mr Wooster a bath.  Then, if you would be so kind, could you perhaps prepare some scrambled eggs and bacon for him?’

            ‘It would be my pleasure madam.’ 

She smiled at me and I felt my own lips twitch upwards in return.

*****

Several days later things in the Wooster household were slowly improving.  Although Mr Wooster had still not left the flat, and had received no visitors, he was at least eating again, albeit only small amounts.  He would bathe and dress each morning and, most gratifyingly, his alcohol consumption had reduced significantly.

            Over lunch yesterday afternoon he had made a comment that gave me pause.

            ‘Jeeves?  Why can’t I find somebody to love me?’

My heart twisted at his words.  I ached to tell him of my own feelings towrads him but I knew it would be wrong to do so.  Not only because I was certain he did not feel that way about me, but I did not wish him to think I was taking advantage of his situation.

            ‘There is somebody for each of us, Sir though perhaps not where we might think to find them.’  It was as close to the truth as I dared to tread.

            ‘I wish I could find a female to love me, Jeeves.’  He said with a sigh.  ‘To love _me,_ who I am not what.  Someone who does not wish to change Bertram but is content with him the way he is.’

            ‘She is out there, Sir.  I am convinced of it.’

I wanted to hug him, hold him to my breast and soothe away the self-doubts he possessed but I made do with a half-smile, which he seemed to appreciate.

            As I commenced the washing up however, I thought back over Mr Wooster’s words and an idea began to dog me.  A friend of mine from the Junior Ganymede was talking some months ago, about a sort of home he had heard of in South London that took in waifs and strays from the streets of London, endeavouring to find them new places in suitable households.  So, this morning, after completing my duties, giving Mr Wooster his breakfast and preparing him a sandwich in case he got hungry before lunch, I made my way across the river.

            I approached the substantial building and entered under a sign that stated ‘Reception’.  I was met by a large, buxom blond woman who had a kindly smile and the air of kind-hearted grandmother about her.

            ‘Good Morning, Sir.  How can we ‘elp you?’

            ‘Good morning, Madam.  I am in search of a companion for my master.  Preferably female?’

            ‘Well, you come to the right place ducky.’  She beamed.

Having explained the procedure should I find that which I was searching for, the woman directed me towards the area where the unfortunate inmates were housed.  I walked row upon row of small, bar-windowed rooms each housing one or more poor souls.  The corridors were aloud with their plaintive cries and it tugged at me to see their sorrowful eyes stare back forlornly as I passed.

            After three-quarters of an hour, and most of the building traversed, I spotted a young brunette with piercing blue eyes and a ready smile.  I stepped closer and bent towards the window to get a better look.  I knew at once that my quest was over and she would make the perfect companion for Mr Wooster.  She sat upon the floor not three feet away from me with the same wide eyed innocent expression he often wore, the one that had seen me fall for him so hard.  Even their eyes were the same shade of blue.  I took note of her room number and as I turned to walk back to the reception desk she pressed her nose up against the bars to watch me.

            ‘Don’t worry.’  I said.  ‘I will be back.’

 

In under an hour I had completed all the necessary paperwork and I was leaving with my new charge.  She seemed a touch fearful of the outside world so I took things slowly, allowing her time to investigate her surroundings.  This endeavour was, perhaps, an impulsive action on my part but instinctively I knew this was the correct course of action to help ease Mr Wooster’s recent heartache.  I had gone against my instincts twice before and I had come to regret it.  I would never do so again.

            The journey back to Mayfair was not wholly without incident.  The young female apparently unused to steps and escalators sat down at the top or bottom of every set we encountered and refused to move, despite all manner of coaxing from myself.  Admitting defeat I picked her up and carried her up or down for I did not want her to get trodden on by the impatient travellers around us.  She was only small and it was not an inconvenience to me.  Her grateful kiss every time I picked her up did soften me slightly I admit.

            Soon enough we arrived back at Berkeley Mansions, having stretched our legs through Green Park.  Mr Jarvis the doorman raised both eyebrows at our approach, but my companions smile and her kiss to his hand as he opened the door brought forth a curve to his own lips and he touched his hat as we entered the building.

            Wanting our arrival to be a surprise for Mr Wooster, I took us via the servant’s stairs at the back of the building, again necessitating my carrying my charge up three flights.  Entering the flat through the kitchen, I sat my basket upon the table, removed my hat, coat and gloves, and turned on the taps to the sink.  I peeked into the sitting room and found Mr Wooster to be dozing on the chesterfield, just as I had hoped he would be.  His sleep was still somewhat disturbed by recent events and he would often take naps throughout the day.

            Within half an hour I had the new arrival bathed, dried, brushed and ready to meet her new master.  Bidding her to stay where she was for the moment, I went into the sitting room and gently shook Mr Wooster’s arm to rouse him from his slumbers.

            ‘Wha? Oh Jeeves, it’s you.  Sorry I must have dozed off.’

            ‘It is quite alright, Sir.  I have someone I would like you to meet.’

With a short whistle the young female came trotting out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.  On seeing Mr Wooster she picked up speed and launched herself at him, sitting upon his chest and showering him with kisses.

            ‘Wha..blah..stst.’  He spluttered, trying to defend himself against the attack.

I clicked my fingers and she ceased her assault, but did not move from her position atop my employer.  He wiped his face with the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow in my direction.

            ‘Jeeves?’ 

            ‘You asked for a female to love you for yourself, Sir.  I believe I have found just such a female.’

For several moments Mr Wooster looked between the female now laid across his upper body and myself then back again, and I held my breath waiting for his response.  Suddenly, he began to laugh.  At first it was just a titter, then a chuckle, until eventually a full deep guffaw left his lips and tears began to roll down his cheeks.  I could not stop my own lips curving upwards as my heart leapt to hear such a precious sound coming from him.

            ‘Oh Jeeves!’ He said wiping his eyes.  ‘You are a bally marvel.’

            ‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, Sir.’  My own eyes were getting a touch misty at the scene before me.  ‘I trust I fulfilled the brief adequately, Sir?’

            ‘You have, Jeeves.  You have.’

Mr Wooster began to tickle his new companion behind the ear and she panted happily in reply.

            ‘Does this young filly have a name then?’  He asked as he gazed soppily into her eyes and she returned the gesture like a moonstruck rabbit.

            ‘None that I am aware of, Sir.  But, if I might venture a suggestion?’

            ‘You may, Jeeves.  You may.’

            ‘I would suggest Lady, Sir.’

            ‘Ladysir?’

            ‘Just, Lady.  Sir.  As in Lady Wooster?’

            It took a few seconds but I saw the sparkle in his eye as he caught on to my idea.  I had missed that light in him this past week and I was glad that it had returned.

            ‘Oh!  Oh I say!  What a wheeze!  It’s brilliant, Jeeves.  Especially if, say, it were to be heard about town that Bertram W had bagged himself a gorgeous, leggy brunette with piercing blue eyes, a wide smile and a penchant for feasting on bones.’

            ‘I could not permit giving her bones, Sir.  They have a tendency to splinter in the stomach and can cause great injury or demise, Sir.’

A momentary look of panic traced across his face but was soon gone again.

            ‘Really? Well sorry old girl, no bones for you.  You’ll just have to put up with steak instead.’

            ‘Woof!’ came the enthusiastic reply.

            ‘It appears to be lunchtime, Jeeves.’  Said Mr Wooster.

            ‘Indeed, Sir.  Will you be joining the young lady for luncheon?’

            ‘I think I might be able to put away a small amount, yes.’

            ‘Very good, Sir.’  I replied before returning to the kitchen to prepare their meal, leaving Mr Wooster pinned underneath the chocolate Labrador puppy now named Lady Wooster.


End file.
